


Marshmallow Soup

by RogueWolf



Series: Avenging Drabbles and Oneshots [6]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky has a cold, Bucky is a cereal thief, Bucky is bored, Bucky is grumpy, Burrito Bucky, Domestic Avengers, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 14:03:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4708631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RogueWolf/pseuds/RogueWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>And as promised, burrito Bucky! </p>
<p>This is kind of a sequel to Cereal Spooning, but it can be read on its own.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Marshmallow Soup

**Author's Note:**

> And as promised, burrito Bucky! 
> 
> This is kind of a sequel to Cereal Spooning, but it can be read on its own.

_Today was a terrible day_ , Bucky thought sourly. Steve, Natasha, and Sam were on some secret mission who knew where, and Barton was laid up in the hospital for two more weeks, after managing to fall off yet another building. Bucky didn’t even want to think about venturing down to Tony’s workshop. The guy was alright, but the hard-on he had for Bucky’s arm was a little uncomfortable, so…. that was a no.

A sneeze startled him out of this thoughts, and then another. Bucky glared up at the ceiling. Not to mention the fact that he had somehow caught a cold. Bucky couldn’t even remember the last time he had been sick. While his super soldier serum wasn’t a Grade A like Steve’s, it did help boost his immune system. Meaning the last time he’d gotten sick had been more than a few decades ago.

He sneezed again and growled, clutching his blankets closer. And Steve wasn’t there. Oh, he knew understood that Steve had a job to do, saving the world and rescuing people and so on, but on the other hand…They’d only been able to have one brief phone conversation in the past week, and even then Steve had to hurriedly hang up, but not before Bucky could hear the crack of gunfire in the distance.

So now Bucky was stuck at home, with a cold, with nobody to take care of him, and no homemade soup. This. Was. Terrible.

He finally rolled out of bed, his blanket draped around and over him like a robe, and shuffled to the kitchen, the blanket trailing behind him. The kitchen was mercifully empty, and Bucky took the chance to blow his nose, wincing at the loud noise. He hated being sick.

He was too tired to cook anything; besides, he was sick, you weren’t supposed to cook when you were sick. That’s what Steve was for.

There was half a gallon of milk left, but the only cereal they had was the disgustingly sweet marshmallow cereal that Steve adored. Bucky stared longingly at the blank space where his Raisin Bran usually sat and then grabbed Steve’s sugary mess of a cereal. _If he couldn’t have his favourite cereal,_ he thought darkly, _then nobody could._

He opened one of the cabinets, grabbed a mixing bowl, poured the entire box of cereal in it, and then drowned it with milk. The marshmallows started bobbing to the top and he stabbed at them viciously with his spoon. He wanted raisins.

By the time he had shuffled back to his room, he had managed to eat half the bowl. He curled up in his bed, tugging the blankets over and around him until he was cocooned in them. Then he started in on the cereal, pausing only to sneeze.

***

“Bucky, we’re back.” The door to Bucky’s room opened and Steve stepped in. He was out of his uniform, but he still looked dirty and worn, as if he had barely rested in the last week. The lump on the bed didn’t move. Steve shook his head and walked around the bed to where the lump was curled up. He was about to poke the blankets when he frowned and knelt next to the bed, reaching under the bed frame and pulling out a neon green mixing bowl. It had a few dried marshmallows sticking to it, their bright colours running together with the leftover milk to form a muddy puddle.

“Bucky,” he said, and poked the blankets with the bowl. “Why is there a mixing bowl under the bed?”

The blankets shifted and grumbled and then settled again.

“Bucky,” Steve said again, his voice stern. “I know you’re not sleeping.” He put the bowl down and started tugging on the covers. “Come on.”

“Go away,” came a muttered response, and the lump shifted and rolled to the other side of the bed.

“Not so fast,” Steve pinned a corner of the blanket with his knee and started to crawl across the bed. “I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s going on.”

The blanket cocoon was still and then it writhed until Bucky was able to shove away the sections covering his face. He glared up at Steve, his eyes red, his nose red and swollen. “Go away,” he said again, but it was ruined by a trio of sneezes. He paused, as if waiting for more, and tried to glare again, but this time his eyes were watering. “Go away.”

Steve just stared. “Are you…Are you sick?” he finally asked.

This seemed to galvanize Bucky. He twisted and turned and threw the blankets off until he was sitting up in the bed, his bare chest gleaming with sweat as he alternated between sneezes and glares. “Yes!” he all but shouted. “I’m sick and my cereal is gone and so I had to eat yours and it was **_disgusting_** and how do you eat that stuff? And I hate being sick and there’s been nobody here to make me chicken soup and I CAN’T STOP SNEEZING!”

Right on cue, he sneezed again.

“Damnit!”

Steve tried, he tried so hard, but when he heard Bucky curse he burst out into laughter, his eyes crinkling at the edges, his fists gripping the bed sheets.

“Steve! Stop it, this isn’t funny!” Bucky threw a pillow at Steve, who didn’t dodge. The pillow bounced off his shoulder, and Steve just laughed even harder. Bucky growled and then tugged the blankets back over his face, ignoring Steve as he sat there and laughed.

Finally, Steve calmed down, though he kept choking on bursts of laughter. “I’m sorry, Bucky, but I just…it’s really funny,” he finished lamely.

The blankets shifted and Bucky glared owlishly out at him. Steve struggled to keep from laughing again and offered a smile. “You know I’d be happy to make you some chicken soup, right?”

“I don’t want any,” Bucky said petulantly.

“Really,” Steve replied. “Not even if I add in those baby carrots you like, and the celery and leeks?”

Bucky stared at him. “That’s cheating,” he said at last.

Steve grinned and let himself fall across Bucky, heard the assassin let out a muffled curse, before Steve wrapped himself around Bucky. “You like it when I cheat,” he said.

“I do not,” Bucky said archly.

“Mhm, right. Well, in that case, I guess I’ll just have to make do with no carrots or celery or leeks.”

Bucky kicked him through the blankets. “Steven Grant Rogers, you will not make a mockery of my chicken soup.”

Steve laughed and snuggled closer. “So it’s your chicken soup now. And here I thought you didn’t want any.”

Bucky sniffed and then sneezed again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Go make me some soup.”

“Later,” Steve said with a yawn. “I promise. Nap first.”

“Fine,” Bucky sighed, “but I’m holding you to that promise.” He felt Steve laugh again and suddenly felt better.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, Buck.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading :)


End file.
